You settle into your chair and log in. The system loads at its usual reluctant pace, the interface unfolding in tones that stopped meaning anything to you long ago. The scripts are already there, tidy answers for problems that are never tidy on the other end of the line. The first call is a billing issue. It's always something like that. You apologise, explain, explain again in slightly different words when the man insists he doesn't understand, though you can tell he does. His voice rises, then settles when he realises there's nowhere for it to go. You resolve it. The system confirms it. The next call is already waiting. The rhythm takes over. Calls arrive, get answered, disappear. You follow the script. You always follow the script. Now and then your attention drifts, not sharply, just a slow slipping away while your mouth keeps saying the right things. Elizabeth leans into your space mid-morning. "Still alive?" "Barely." "Lunch later?" You hesitate, half a second. "Yeah." She nods and goes, with a look that says she hasn't let it go. By midday the room feels heavier, the repetition piled into something you can almost touch. You pull your bag closer. The laptop is still inside, your phone silent beside it. You open the laptop. Not into the system in front of you. Into the other one. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Lunch|Go to lunch]]